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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604443">i shut my eyes (and all the world drops dead)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfTechnology/pseuds/GoddessOfTechnology'>GoddessOfTechnology</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>King's Quest (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>'fairytale dystopia' is unfortunately not a tag, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, but in like a 'saving the world is more important right now' way, by which i mean i broke the canon timeline into several separate pieces, grahamxvee is supposed to be the endgame pairing eventually, i know it's been a while but i swear i will finish this, it's on my list</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:53:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfTechnology/pseuds/GoddessOfTechnology</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, not too long ago, there was a kingdom by the name of Daventry. It still exists, of course, but this was back when Daventry was much, much different from the place you know today: when the skies were still blue, and the people were still free, and no one was afraid of traveling there and being unable to return.</p><p>(Or: Manny uses a slightly different method to conquer Daventry. It's very successful)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeNarwhal">awesomenarwhal</a> for beta reading &lt;3</p><p>Title taken from 'Mad Girl's Love Song' by Sylvia Plath</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>Once, not too long ago, there was a kingdom by the name of Daventry. It still exists, of course, but this was back when Daventry was much, much different from the place you know today: when the skies were still blue, and the people were still free, and no one was afraid of traveling there and being unable to return.</p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>Back then, Daventry was not a grand kingdom, not by any means. It was small and browbeaten and financially disadvantaged - a kingdom with far more potential than prospects. The fault of years of poor, negligent ruling by a once-great king.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And it was in this state, this shambled, scuffed state, that it was passed on to a new king.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The king was human, like all kings are. He was nervous and overwhelmed, untrained for the task he was given. Which is not to say he was incompetent - he had potential, much like the kingdom he ruled - but. He needed time, and understanding, and confidence in himself to follow his own path, instead of standing in the shadow of his predecessor. Given the chance, he could have been great.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Unfortunately, he wasn’t given such a chance.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The king was not without enemies - or rather, one enemy in particular. A sorcerer who bore a great grudge against him, a grudge several years in the making-</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>-(but that is another story, and shall be told another time)-</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>-and who had planned, for many years, a means to take the throne from the king; for in his eyes, it was he himself who deserved the crown. His plan was a devious one indeed, deadly in its simplicity, for he had worked and toiled and obsessed to put together an enchantment that would bring Daventry to her knees; and what better time to enact it then during such a period of instability, when both king and kingdom were still weak?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And so, confident in the certainty of his victory, the sorcerer marched one day into Daventry castle, flinging open the great castle doors with a rush of magic. The guards attempted to stay his advance, but they were no match for his power; he threw them aside like ragdolls and strode into the throne room, magic crackling in his path.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Give me your crown, and I shall spare your life," the sorcerer demanded of the king, his voice echoing off the walls, "for I would be king of Daventry."</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now, a seasoned, experienced king might have fought or yielded to or outsmarted his opponent. But the king was neither seasoned nor experienced, and hardly was expecting the sorcerer’s invasion; so, still numb with shock, he remained frozen in his throne, and mechanically refused the sorcerer’s demands: "I will not."</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Give me your throne, and I shall let you live," demanded the sorcerer once more, "for I would be king of Daventry."</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"I will not."</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Give me your sceptre, and I shall have mercy," the sorcerer demanded for the third and final time, "for I would be king of Daventry."</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"I will not."</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Then if you will not give me your crown, and your throne, and your sceptre, I will take them by force," the sorcerer declared, and with a wave of magic he placed himself upon the throne, and the crown upon his head, and the sceptre in his hand. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And then, as the guards rushed to subdue him, he weaved the enchantment he had prepared so carefully, the spell that would cripple Daventry.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cruelty is not the antithesis of personality. The sorcerer, though cold and bitter, had his predilections and his foibles, had his fondness for certain things. One of those things was a consuming, encompassing obsession with fairy tales. Fantasy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Thus, it was fantasy that the sorcerer used to conquer Daventry and her king. A wicked spell made of stories and dreams and dust, that spread throughout the land like a plague. So deeply did he steep Daventry in magic that the very soil and air and rivers were soaked in it; it was like a poison, or perhaps a contagion - an infection of unreality. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And as the poison spread on wisps of green mana, Daventry <em>changed</em>. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The kingdom was not a kingdom any more, but a stage. The monsters were no longer beasts, but villains, opponents. Most horrifyingly of all, the people were no longer free of will and independent, but characters. Playthings. Like dolls, manipulated to play a part, then tucked quietly away when they were no longer needed. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For you see, the magic had pushed and shoved and crammed, until it had twisted Daventry into the very fairy tales the sorcerer loved so dearly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>~=~</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The enchantment was never lifted - the reasons why are nothing more than speculation. Few visit Daventry these days, after all, and those who do do not return. But there are rumors, spread by the squirrels and the birds, the only beings that can still travel freely to and from the kingdom.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And the rumors are terrible ones.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They tell of a ruined, broken land, overcome with monsters and magic and thorns, too dangerous to traverse. By day the sky is clouded with sickly green, the sun’s light weak and wavering; by night no stars are visible, the kingdom suffocated by darkness. Harsh, inhospitable, with danger lurking around every corner. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The people, too, are changed. Bound by magic that directs their every move, presses in on all sides, twists their words and actions, forcing them to move, to speak, to <em>think</em> a certain way. It buzzes and cracks in warning whenever they misbehave, rebel, <em>break character</em>. An oppressive weight that treats them as mere playthings. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(Most try to ignore it as best they can. Some fight it, and don't get very far. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>[Some try to leave Daventry, to flee from the magic. It doesn't end well for them])</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Things have changed. The people are quieter, hopelessness hovering in the air like a miasma. It's grown heavier over the years, that hopelessness, as they've struggled and fought and waited to no avail, until it's almost clouding the streets like fog. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Daventry isn't a home, but a prison. And her king isn't much of a king, not anymore. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeNarwhal">awesomenarwhal</a>  for betareading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daventry has claimed a number of victims, wandering travelers unfortunate enough to cross her borders. Most were...not unimportant, per se, but less notable. Farmers and merchants and all sorts of rabble that went missing and were swiftly forgotten. They fueled the rumors, but their absences didn't overturn entire kingdoms. </p><p>One of her victims was, however, significantly more influential. Namely, Princess Neese of Western Kolyma.</p><p>The story isn't especially dramatic. One day, Princess Neese went missing, never to be seen again. It was all very sudden and unexpected, of course - she retired to bed early that evening, complaining of a headache, and when the maid went to wake her up the next morning the poor girl found the bed unslept in and no sign of the missing princess. </p><p>A proper fuss was kicked up. The king was horribly frightened and spared no expense to find her, setting every knight in Western Kolyma on the task. And they searched for a long time, and they <em>did</em> try their best, but after several months without a sign of their departed princess, they were forced to give up the effort. There's only so long you can chase after a ghost, after all. </p><p>A year and a day after she first went missing, Princess Neese was presumed to be dead. Her father was inconsolable. Most accepted it - reluctantly to be sure, for the princess was well-loved, but that hardly mattered. Acceptance meant they were no longer willing to search for her. Acceptance was surrender. Acceptance was a natural choice, one that could hardly be condemned under these circumstances. </p><p>Princess Vee, heir to the throne of Eastern Kolyma and Neese's closest friend, refused to accept it. </p><p>The first thing Vee did after the announcement was, naturally, to cry. In a properly dignified fashion, she locked herself in her bedroom, sat on the bed, and cried out her fear and her distress and her loss. As is perfectly ordinary for someone who’s lost their best friend. </p><p>What’s less ordinary, however, is that the moment she finished crying, she dried her tears and set to packing her bags. Within the hour she left the castle, armed to the teeth and dressed in proper adventuring apparel, leaving naught but a small note of explanation behind for her father: the note saying that he shouldn't worry, and that she would return as soon as she found Neese.</p><p>Fortunately, she's had significantly better success. She knows her friend far better than any stranger knight, after all. Less fortunate, however, are the results of her search. All signs point to Daventry, for Neese's trail ends there. </p><p>And that brings us to where Vee is now - perched precariously on the border to Daventry, and debating whether to continue. </p><p>~=~</p><p>
  <em>This is a horrible idea. </em>
</p><p>Princess Vee is in a place she very much isn’t supposed to be. Over and over again, she's been warned: <em>stay away from Daventry, if you travel there you won't return</em>. Only a fool would go to Daventry, a doomed fool, and Vee is far from foolish.</p><p>So, all that considered, to be here teetering on the kingdom's border, balanced on the knife's edge between <em>safe</em> and<em> not safe</em>, is perhaps not her wisest decision. </p><p>Her father would have a fit if he knew, she's sure. </p><p>This close to the border, the ambient magic in the air is unsurprisingly strong, and it hums in Vee’s ears, light as a feather, a ceaseless drone like a mosquito’s whine. It rings sharp with <em>danger</em>, and sets her nerves on edge. There's no visible boundary that she can see, no wall of magic to cross, but Vee can tell with the instinct of trapped prey that one step forward will seal her fate, will mean she can no longer turn back. One step forward and she won't be allowed to leave. </p><p>Vee is half-tempted to turn back then and there.</p><p>But of course, that is impossible. Impossible because Vee knows her friend all too well. She knows that Neese is resourceful and creative and fantastically stubborn, and that there isn't much that can keep her friend in a place she doesn't want to be. For Neese not to have returned yet, means that she must be well and truly trapped. That she needs help, and sorely so. </p><p>Neese needs her, in short, and Vee would sooner die than abandon her. Really, the moment she found out Neese was in Daventry, her path was already etched in stone. </p><p>It's just that this feels more...permanent. Final. Her last chance to retreat, even though retreat was never an option. </p><p>But. She's not doing herself any favors by dallying. Best to get it over with, before she loses her nerve. </p><p>Vee breathes in deeply, then takes one, resolute step forward.</p><p>The world wavers, shifts, spins around her, and she gasps as magic presses in on all sides, stifling her, crawling into her lungs and drowning her. It’s like walking through a wall of water, if she were stupid enough to do so without holding her breath first. </p><p>And then it’s over as quickly as it began, the magic retreating as if disgusted by her presence, and Vee stumbles into Daventry and tries to regain her composure. </p><p>She keeps her eyes closed for several moments, pushing down the rising nausea. When she feels a little less ill, she straightens and looks around, driven by natural curiosity. </p><p>On the other side of the border, the world looks rather alien. Cold and inhospitable and sharp, cool grey mist stretching out under a green-tinted sky. She turns around, an automatic impulse to see if she can turn back, though she knows all too well the answer to <em>that</em> particular question. </p><p>There's a peculiar darkness behind her, like a wall of shadows. Experimentally, she reaches out to touch the makeshift barrier. Her fingers sting and burn and crackle when she does so, and she retreats with a wince. Going back is not an option, it seems. </p><p>Which means, quite clearly, that her only path is forwards. And forwards she goes, through the mist and darkness.</p><p>~=~</p><p>The birds don't sing in Daventry. </p><p>It took Vee several minutes to place it. Something about the forest sounded so odd, so jarringly strange. She didn't realize at first that it wasn't a sound, exactly, but a lack of sound. </p><p>The birds don't sing in Daventry, and it bothers her more than it should. It sounds wrong, a wrongness to match the green-tinted sky and the peculiarly hostile landscape.</p><p>People say that Daventry is as sharp as knives: Vee would be hard-pressed to disagree. The crunch of pebbles under her feet sounds different from normal - that's because they aren't round and dull and featureless, but instead sharp, dangerously so, so that she half-expects them to cut through the soles of her boots. If she were to fall, she'd cut herself up horribly. </p><p>(If the landscape is trying to threaten her, it's certainly made its <em>point</em>, she thinks wryly)</p><p>More notable, however, are the thorn bushes that line her path, an unending overgrown wall of spikes that rears high above her head. They almost blot out the greenish sky, so tall are they, and the branches curve in such odd ways that Vee half-fancies that they're about to reach towards her and grab her. </p><p><em>Too tall,</em> she thinks. Thorns shouldn't grow that high. It must be a climbing plant, and climbing plants need some form of support. Curiosity is swift to set in, and she peers through the thorns, careful to avoid the sharp pinpricks. </p><p>And she sees birch trees. </p><p>Birch trees, once alive and flourishing, now long dead, rotting. The white branches are fairly overwhelmed with thorns. It's no guess to determine how they died - suffocation, clearly, the thorns blocking their access to the sun.</p><p>They might have been pretty, once upon a time, particularly in the fall. Vee wouldn't know.  </p><p>She steps back, a leaden feeling in her chest. It was one thing, before, to see Daventry as strange, otherworldly, dangerous. To act as if it was <em>always</em> that way. She knew it wasn't, of course, but only in an abstract sense, the way you know of a battle that took place centuries ago. Real but not quite real. </p><p>But this...this is physical evidence that Daventry used to be a proper, healthy kingdom. Pretty, even. With people that lived here, presumably happily. With birds and squirrels and who knew what else. </p><p>Daventry used to have forests of birch trees. And those are gone, now, blotted out by the enchantment. It makes her wonder just what else was lost, what else was similarly blotted out. </p><p>Vee continues walking, after a moment of silence, but the thorns and the mist and the grey-green sky weigh on her, heavier than before.</p><p> ~=~</p><p>She's not sure how long she walks - time in Daventry has a funny way of blurring. Especially when there's nothing behind you but thorn bushes and sharp pebbled paths, and nothing ahead but more of the same. The road goes <em>crunch crunch crunch</em> under her feet as her surroundings meld into a shapeless grey mass, and there's nothing in her mind except the desolate buzzing of magic.</p><p>Then she rounds a corner, careful to avoid snagging her shirt on the thorns, and stumbles across a little wooden cottage. </p><p>It's no ordinary cottage, she can tell. There's an aura to it, wavering and inconsistent, that makes it difficult to look at. Somehow, it seems almost to <em>pulse</em> at the edges - just looking at it gives her a headache. </p><p>She blinks, trying to recompose herself. The cottage seems almost to loom over her. Strange, she could have sworn it was smaller. It must have been a trick of the light - </p><p>The cottage abruptly changes, and Vee watches, surprised, as it becomes taller, sharper - there’s even an extra window she'd swear wasn't there before. It's not a morphing as such, just...her brain stutters, briefly, and then she finds the house has changed. </p><p>She's unnerved. But she's not getting anywhere just by standing there, so with a mental shrug she strides towards the house. </p><p>(She keeps her hand close to the knife at her hip, just in case)</p><p>There's a wind chime hanging beside the door, she notices. As she watches, it flickers and changes, wood shifting and morphing into metal. It makes her slightly nauseous, and she tries not to look at it. </p><p>Instead, she knocks. Once, twice, thrice. And she waits. And waits. And waits, trying not to look at the door as it flicker-shifts from oak to cherry to pine. Several long, long moments pass, during which she doesn't hear a sound from within the house. </p><p>Then, just as she's about to turn to leave, there's a hesitant scrape of a door-bar being lifted. The door swings open slowly, gently, and Vee is momentarily taken aback.</p><p>The person answering is a king, she can tell by the crown perched precariously on his head - cracked and tarnished, but a crown nonetheless. What a king is doing here instead of a castle is beyond her - he doesn't <em>belong</em> here, she can feel it.</p><p>The king looks...rather horrible. Bedraggled and tired and pale and broken, with an air of frantic sadness that surrounds him. His hair is long and wild and unkempt and he has bags under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in over a week. Vee's immediate fear is that he'll fall over, and wouldn't <em>that</em> be awkward.</p><p>But what's worse is the sheer panic in his gaze as he stares at her, eyes wide. Vee has never been regarded with such <em>fear</em> before. It's an uncomfortable feeling. </p><p>Several moments of tense silence pass, interrupted only by the occasional <em>clink</em> of the purple wind-chime. The king seems frozen in his distress, too distracted for such social niceties as, say, greeting her. </p><p>“Hello,” she says at last, with her most winning smile. Maybe if she's nice he'll stop looking at her with that horrible frightened stare. “I am Princess Vee. I'm searching for my frien-”</p><p>She doesn’t get much further than that. In a supremely discourteous move, the king yelps like a stepped-upon cat and slams the door in her face. Jostled, the wind-chime - now green - sways wildly to and fro, jingling frantically, and Vee is left watching it in a stunned sort of daze. </p><p>"Well," she says after several moments, to no one in particular. "That was...peculiar."</p><p>There's no response, of course. Just the gentle jingling of the canary-yellow wind-chime.</p>
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